


Oblivion

by punkspiders



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, I don't know what else to tag this as, Jack is an asshole, M/M, crutchie needs some love, race is so angry, small bit of violence, spot gets some redemption, spot is scared for once in his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 22:31:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17671328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkspiders/pseuds/punkspiders
Summary: They would win the strike and prove to Pulitzer once and for all that they weren't to be pushed around no more.





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> not edited because fuck that! this was written in one go

Racetrack Higgins was furious.

Furious isn't even the best word. He was so full of ire that he couldn't hear a single sound around him and his vision was tinted red. People scurried out of his way as he walked to and across the Brooklyn Bridge. No one wanted to mess with an angry newsie, especially not one who was covered with bruised and cuts and still looked angry.

Every Brooklyn newsie he passed stared at him with wide eyes, but he ignored their stares. His anger was for one newsie, and one newsie only. He didn't want to waste it on the ones he'd slowly become friends with. It wasn't their fault.

Stitches, Brooklyn's second in command, fell into step with him. She knew exactly why he was there, and she would escort him to the lodge, up the stairs, then deliver him to Spot Conlon's door.

Which is what she did.

Race waited for her steps to fade away. When he couldn't hear the creaking of the wooden stairs, he banged on Spot's door. It swung open after a few seconds.

"Race? What are you-"

The blond newsie pushed past Spot, clenching his fists. Both boys were silent as they stood in the room, Race's back facing Spot.

Then he turned and punched Spot square in the face.

He could hear a soft crack and an even louder yell, blood slowly starting to trickle out of Spot's nose.

"What the hell?! What was that for, Higgins?" Spot tilted his head forward but leaned away from Race. There was an emotion in his eyes that was rarely ever there: fear.

"Don't play dumb," Race spat. "You know  _exactly_ what that was for. Why didn't you come? We were counting on you! _I_ was counting on you, dammit!" His voice cracked at the end and he blinked away tears that were threatening to fall.

Spot was silent as he finally got the chance to study Race's face. He took in the bruises and the little cuts, his breathing stopping.

"Who did this to you."

Race scoffed. "Don't pretend like you care, Conlon."

Spot flinched. Race's confidence grew.

"Where were you? Were you sitting here, playing poker with your damn newsies, while we were out there standing up for every newsie in New York, getting our asses kicked? Les's arm is fractured. Romeo has a concussion. My fucking ribs are likely broken! All because Spot Conlon was too high and mighty that he couldn't even help out a bit."

Spot stayed silent, the fear in his eyes even bigger. It showed in his stance and the way he bit his lip and glanced away from Race. He wasn't just scared. He felt guilty.

 _And so he should,_ Race thought.

"I'm sorry." Spot's voice was so soft that Race barely heard it.

"You're sorry? Yeah, right. Jack left. Our leader is gone. He deserted us and since I'm the second in command, I have to be the leader. Y'know what else?"

Spot shook his head. "Stop..."

"They took Crutchie. They took him to the goddamn Refuge, Spot! They took a kid who can barely defend himself to the shittiest place in the world."

"Racer-"

"Did you know that I've been there before?" Race's tone was deadly serious. "I've been to the Refuge twice. Once when I was seven, and once when I was fifteen. I nearly didn't make it out the second time. I stood up for all the little kids, because I knew I had a higher pain tolerance. They tried to kill me, and they were so close. Then Jack finally brought me out."

"I...I didn't know. I'm sorry, Race."

"Sure you are. If you truly are sorry, be there next time or else there won't be a third. And I could very well be dead."

Race fixed his cap, not meeting Spot's eyes as he stalked out of the lodge.

\- - -

Spot made sure his newsies went to the rally and backed up Manhattan.

"Anyone who refused to go better pack their bags and get the hell out of the lodge," he threatened. "We're going to be there for our brothers just like we should've been the first time. Send word to all the other boroughs. Tell them that Spot Conlons says they better send all their newsies to back up Manhattan, unless they can't even get out of bed."

\- - -

When Racetrack Higgins peered down from the balcony he stood at with his fellow Manhattan newsies, he grinned.

Spot had kept his promise.

They would win the strike and prove to Pulitzer once and for all that they weren't to be pushed around no more.

It was their time to take over the world.


End file.
